The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  She brought her best pad of thick Basildon Bond, an envelope and her fountain pen to the kitchen table and drew up a chair. She was sitting at the end where she'd made Rachel bend over exactly a week before. She traced with her fingers the pattern in the grain on the tabletop. She was still somewhat shocked at how forceful she'd been in punishing her daughter, though she felt no regret or guilt. After all, it seemed to have had a beneficial effect - Rachel had been respectful and cooperative all week, apart from some sulking immediately after Susan had been taken home. She'd been struck by how similar Rachel's response to being swished had been to her own when she'd been caned at Cropton Hall all those years ago. Her daughter had reminded her uncannily of herself! But the stream of memories aroused by last Saturday had become a flood when her husband had mentioned the name of Verily Markham. And one memory in particular had been demanding to be replayed.

  Verily had been in the Upper Sixth, Patricia herself a year below. They hadn't been particularly close, though they had mutual friends and smiled in passing - Verily had many friends and even more admirers - so when, on that Sunday morning, Verily approached her and suggested a "dare", she'd been thrilled to be considered by this charismatic girl a worthy partner in crime. But Verily's choice had been quite deliberate.

  The Chemistry mistress, a Miss Bates, ran the school's first XI Hockey team and had promised Patricia a chance in an upcoming match against Pickering Girls High after some good performances in practice. But when the team list had been posted on the Saturday morning Patricia's name was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't even a substitute. She'd approached Miss Bates in the changing room, where the team were gathering for a pre-match tactical talk, to remind her of her promise, but the mistress claimed not to remember any such thing. Patricia, upset and disappointed, had lost her temper slightly and said it was very unfair, at which Miss Bates had taken her by the ear, pulled her over to a bench and said,

  "Right, young lady, if you feel so let down that you have to resort to rudeness, then you can let down your underwear this minute, bend over this bench and see what it gets you!" At which she'd picked up a plimsoll, waited for the unfortunate Patricia to present herself as instructed, and delivered a rapid series of hefty thwacks to each buttock.

  Verily, who was the star of the hockey team (of course!), had witnessed this scene. After Patricia had left, in tears and out of the team, Miss Bates turned to the girls and asked if that hadn't been a witty pun she'd come up with. Verily had determined there and then on revenge. She hated it when mistresses were arrogant or abused their power. She'd thought of deliberately playing badly so as to lose the match, but had hit on a better scheme in which, this Sunday morning, a day later, she was offering to include Patricia.

  Miss Bates owned a Morris Minor which she always parked in the same spot under some trees furthest from the main entrance. Verily's plan, ingeniously conceived to throw Miss Bates' pun back in her face, was to let down her tyres. Verily's mother owned the same kind of vehicle and she'd seen a mechanic changing a tyre once, so she knew how to go about it.

  Patricia couldn't resist. It was such a perfect revenge. At about two-thirty, when the school tended to be at its quietest on a Sunday afternoon, they sneaked out through the changing room and circled round to approach the car park through the trees, right where Miss Bates' Morris sat, plump and proud. They started with the rear ones. Inserting a penknife into the valve, and twisting it carefully, Verily managed to elicit a hiss that grew as she manipulated the knife further into the right spot. It took about two minutes before the tyre was completely flat. They moved on to the other one. Not wanting to let her do all the work, Patricia said,

  "Here, show me how," and after a bit of trial and error she had managed to deflate the second one.

  "I know," said Verily excitedly, "let's leave it like this. She's sure to see the tyres are flat if we do the front ones, but she might not notice these back ones straight away, then she'll get in and try to drive off. Imagine the shock she'll get when she feels the back bumping along!" The thought of Miss Bates's reaction had them laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes as they retraced their steps back through the trees.

  Emerging from the changing room they were confronted by Miss Bainbridge who asked what they were up to, but they just told her they'd been hanging up some clothes to dry and she let them be. They had such fun together that afternoon taking it in turns to imagine the different possible reactions of Miss Bates when she discovered how she'd been "let down".

  Lost in these thoughts at her kitchen table, Patricia turned her fountain pen round and round between her fingers and sighed. It was the next part of the story that had, unsurprisingly, been most indelibly seared into her memory.

  Verily had been unable that evening to resist taking the drama one fatal step further.

  At tea, the main evening meal for the girls at six o'clock, word was spreading about Miss Bates' Morris. Several girls had been upstairs in their dormitory when they'd heard fearsome screeching sounds. Out of their dormitory window they'd seen the back of the Morris crawling and grinding through the gravel for some yards before it stopped and Miss Bates emerged to see what was amiss. They witnessed her mounting annoyance and how she strode off angrily towards the main entrance. A few minutes later Miss Bentley had come out with her to look at the damage. They'd inspected the rear tyres closely before leaving the forlorn Morris Minor where it was, beached like a baby whale, with its wake of displaced gravel.

  These accounts of course delighted Verily and Patricia, and they confided in two of Verily's closest Upper Sixth friends what they had done. It was as they were making their way back to their common room that they saw Miss Bates coming towards them. With the two friends and Patricia her audience, Verily stood before Miss Bates with twinkling eyes and uttered the fateful line:

  "I'm so sorry, Miss Bates. I heard you had a let-down!"

  Miss Bates stared furiously, turned puce and marched off.

  Miss Bentley was no fool and Verily's reputation for daring went before her. The investigation connected Miss Bainbridge's meeting with the two of them outside the changing room; Miss Bates' whacking of Patricia, which Verily had witnessed; Verily's own history with Miss Bates; the scratches on the inside of the valve and finally Verily's punch-line to the whole story. Summoned before Miss Bentley and confronted with the cumulative weight of this circumstantial evidence, as well as the threat of dire consequences for the whole school should they not own up, both girls confessed.

  They were given a fierce and lengthy dressing down and instructed to report to the Headmistress's study at seven-thirty the following morning. Miss Bentley did not cane on a Sunday, and anyway, the wait would add to their discomfort.

  Her face a little flushed, Patricia got up to make a cup of tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil she remembered the fear that had kept her awake that night, but also the intermittent surges of pride and laughter at the sweet revenge she and Verily had exacted on Miss Bates. She'd told herself, as she lay there, that it had been worth it.

  The shaking had begun almost as soon as she awoke and became conscious again of what was in store. She couldn't do up her bra strap - in the end she had to ask her bed neighbour, in a voice strangled by the dryness of her mouth, to do it for her. The other girls in her dorm knew why and looked at her with pity. The quivering wouldn't stop; her teeth started chattering too, as if she were freezing, though it was actually quite warm; deep breaths only controlled it for a spell. And her jelly-like knees threatened to give way as she walked down the stairs and turned in the direction of the Head's study at seven twenty-eight.

  Verily Markham was already there. She looked scared too, but put on a brave face when she saw Patricia, and held her hands tightly when she noticed Patricia's uncontrollable shakes.

  They went in together. ‘Molly’ was waiting on Miss Bentley's desk. She didn't upbraid them much - she'd said her piece the night before. Patricia was to be beaten first, Verily instructed to stand
facing the wall by the door.

  She'd been caned five times before by Miss Bentley but four of those had been with the junior cane. She'd only experienced Molly once - three strokes for fighting - and she'd had the 'traitors' for two weeks.

  This time, she got six. Very slowly, one after the other, they sliced mercilessly into her bared bottom. After the fourth she was sure she must be bleeding. She was convinced she could feel wetness and it made it the more terrifying. Amidst the unbearable hot pain, she cried in pity for herself. When finally she heard a distant voice saying she could get up, she reached behind to feel for the blood, but there was none, just a dampness where her skin was raw. She couldn't understand why she was both relieved and disappointed. Pulling her panties up over the swollen ridges brought more tears of self-pity.

  Still fighting the intolerable agony radiating from her rear, she made her way very tentatively to the corner by the door where she was to wait while Verily took her place. She was too preoccupied wincing and gulping, struggling to survive her own pain, to pay any attention to the preliminaries of Verily's getting into position, or the first whistling swish of the cane. But the sound of its impact sent a reminding spasm through her and she found herself crying again, this time for her friend. No! Don't hurt Verily. Please don't!

  The empathy she felt took her attention away from her own bottom for the first time in fifteen minutes. When the second stroke fell she turned slightly and noticed for the first time the mirror, about three feet to her left on the adjacent wall, level with her gaze. In it she saw the reflection of Verily bent over the desk, her back arched, her arms stretched out in front of her, and the Headmistress standing back, casually flicking the cane up and down. Verily was shifting uncomfortably, her head turning slightly this way and that, one foot or the other lifting slightly off the carpet despite the constraint of the knickers round her ankles.

  Patricia watched spellbound. She waited to see what it looked like when the cane came down. This was what she'd just been through.

  Verily gradually became still again. She hadn't made a sound yet. Patricia had yelled at every stroke. After a minute she saw the Headmistress ready herself, holding the cane horizontally, its final twelve inches in line with its target. In a motion so swift that the cane itself almost disappeared in a blur, Miss Bentley raised it high and whipped it into the middle of Verily's buttocks. Patricia saw the indentation it made, altering the rounded shape of the bottom for a split second before the flesh bounced back into place. She winced. This time Verily did let out a kind of loud gasp, her head thrown back. Miss Bentley looked satisfied and stepped away once more, the cane slack in her hand now, its tip near the floor. Gradually, again, Verily seemed to be able to absorb the pain - that pain so fresh in Patricia's memory she almost felt it again with each stroke that Verily was receiving. In fact her own backside now throbbed and stung at a more bearable level, her mind partly removed from the pain by the hypnotic effect of watching the action in the mirror.

  The fourth loud thwapp of the cane on her naked flesh brought forth a louder and more prolonged yelp of anguish from poor Verily whose head reared up again, her hair flying. Then her head fell back down and her back rose up as she rocked back and forth trying to escape the agony of those burning lines. But her elbows never left the surface of the desk and she stayed face down.

  Patricia could see the stripes coming round the side of Verily's right buttock and she watched as Miss Bentley too stepped round more directly behind Verily to view the marks more clearly.

  Another minute passed before the Headmistress prepared herself to deliver number five. The cane rose and fell as it had before, this time quite low across the fullest part of Verily's buttocks, and again Verily let out an agonised yell. Patricia's mouth was dry: she'd been so engrossed in the scene behind her, she had forgotten to swallow. She had to move her tongue around in her mouth to manufacture some saliva. Her legs felt exhausted suddenly and she shifted her weight from one to the other, setting off another angry wave of stinging and throbbing in her backside.

  The sixth stroke appeared to land over an earlier one and Verily's scream this time sent a chill through Patricia's body. Verily still managed to stay down but she was writhing now across the top of the desk, her bottom wriggling desperately from side to side, arching out and back, quite unable to remain still. Though young, Patricia had a sense that what she was seeing was almost obscene: these full, round arse-cheeks thrusting around in the air. And then, for the first time between strokes, Patricia heard Verily's voice: barely above a whisper, she was muttering "Ow ... ow ... ow." and she saw her friend's shoulders shake with a sob.

  Standing at the kitchen counter, Patricia sighed again. She tipped two teaspoons of tea leaves into the pot and poured the boiling water in after them. She noticed wryly that her hands were trembling. She hadn't revisited this episode for many, many years, but the memories were coming upon her now in lurid colour.

  Thank heavens, she'd thought, after Verily's sixth. That was it. It was over and they could escape this horrid room and this remorselessly punishing woman. But as more seconds ticked by she realised that Miss Bentley had not told Verily she could get up. She turned to look round and found Miss Bentley staring straight at her.

  "Turn and face the wall this minute!" she barked.

  Patricia was too afraid to watch any more. She heard the seventh and eighth whipping in and Verily's howls of agony, before finally it really was over. They'd left the study and gone straight to the basins in the changing room to try and ease the pain with cold water. The marks on Verily's bottom had been truly startling with the stripes turning purple and dark red where two or even three strokes had overlapped.

  Patricia sat down at the kitchen table again with her tea. She opened the pad and unscrewed her fountain pen. She sucked the end for a moment before starting to write:

  Dear Verily

  I don't know if you remember me. We were at Cropton Hall together in 1926-29. I was Patricia Desmond then. You were a year above me. You might remember the incident with Miss Bates' tyres? We both rather paid the price for that!

  I'm writing to wish you the very best in your new post. My daughter Rachel, to whom I am entrusting this letter, is just starting her Lower Sixth year. She's a good girl (but then I would say that, wouldn't I?) but of course does need disciplining occasionally. I'm sure you will have her well in hand.

  Unfortunately I am unable to accompany my husband in driving Rachel back to school tomorrow, and I am sure you will be fully occupied on such an important day anyway. However, I do look forward to meeting you again at some point before too long.

  Yours, most sincerely,

  Patricia Thomas (nee Desmond)

  She laid blotting paper carefully over the page for a few seconds before folding and placing it carefully in the matching Basildon Bond envelope. She licked the flap, sealed and addressed the letter, and got up to take it to the hall table. She was happy Cropton Hall was now in the hands of Verily Markham. Moreover, she realised she rather envied her daughter. With a sigh she returned to the kitchen to begin preparations for dinner: it was Rachel's last night at home for three months so she wanted to cook her something special.

  5. Staff Development

  It was not until noon on Saturday, the day before pupils would arrive back for the new academic year, that Miss Markham sent word that she wished to see Prudence Waring in her study. She had held, during the week, individual interviews with every other member of staff. Prudence felt peeved at being called in during a weekend and a little uneasy that she was the last to be seen, but she was confident she could charm her new boss.

  "You wished to see me, Headmistress?" asked Prudence, mustering a practised pretence of innocent sweetness into her voice and demeanour.

  "Yes, come in, Miss Waring." Verily Markham held open the study door. The expression on her face gave nothing away as Prudence entered, sneaking a fearful sidelong glance at the older woman that belied the sweet tone of the moment be
fore. She waited awkwardly while the Headmistress closed the door. Outside, a strong wind blew rain against the windows at the far end of the room.

  "Please, have a seat." Miss Markham indicated the straight-backed chair across the large desk from her own. Prudence was smartly dressed in a black skirt that hugged her hips and thighs and ended just below her knees, a simple white blouse and black shoes with heels rather higher than Verily thought appropriate: the careful balancing act they required made Prudence's buttocks and hips sway exaggeratedly as she made her way across the room. What she observed made Verily feel even more certain of the rightness of the plan she had conceived.

  She wasted no time. Crossing to resume her own chair - like a small throne, with elegantly carved arms and upholstered in dark green leather - she began in an ominous tone:

  "Miss Waring, I have been informed by various of your colleagues of no fewer than three occasions in the past year when your conduct has been - I am sorry but I can find no more appropriate term - appalling."

  Prudence flushed and sat up straighter in her chair. The Headmistress's dark brown eyes were boring into hers. She wanted to look away but couldn't. Her extreme discomfort expressed itself in a slight twisting of her mouth as if she wanted to deny the reality of what she was hearing.

  "Let me summarise. You effectively bullied Miss Stokes last autumn into exchanging desks with you only to change your mind when you realised you might get a little cold." Her tone oozed contempt. "Last term you allowed your temper to get the better of you to such an extent that you treated the Headmistress with an extraordinary lack of respect - demanding she act as you wished her to act by beating the two girls." Her voice remained calm but glowed with indignation. "Finally, the results for the Upper Sixth Geography, that you taught, were unacceptably poor and yet I hear from your Head of Department that you have failed to provide your records of work despite repeated requests."